Thursday, April 24, 2008

I received my last red uniform a long time back. If my memories aren’t dampened with the moisture in my belly, it had been a long 6 years since. Centenary celebrations sparked a row thus giving us the new luster. How boring was the leisure granted while my coat was to dry! And the next day I was the cynosure of all eyes. All appreciated my dress to a great applause. Memories too take time to dry isn’t? I was fed with a lot of intellectual nourishment; in simple words some were real food for thought. Today I am lean, permanently idle and old and it’s all silt and rust I carry. Alone in this big city, none to notice, none to care, I wither in the sun, shiver in the cold and wrinkle in the rain. I am paralyzed, unable to move, in a condition to move any compassionate heart. Some dry leaves give me company today. Time snails.Age as well caught up with me, but without any assurance. I suffered. On the brink of geezerhood, not a single soul bothered. Umpteen I gave news of a job, many to whom I whispered a baby born, some I gifted those fragrant love letters. None ever enquired my sorry state. Lives made. Celebrations done. People forget. It’s not a mistake. It’s human.Heard that young people have taken over, one who moves faster, is more reliable and cheaper. But wasn’t my service reliable and cheap, or has things turned turtle? Free sells anywhere and has it become so? Maybe so… how will a forgotten chap like me know? Overheard an individual mentioning email or was it female; auditory sense prevails but cloudy with dirt in my ears. Still it’s beyond my scope of understanding; at times I sit wondering whether it’s a fairy tale I heard. How can a letter go electronically via a computer, and reach anywhere in the world within seconds? And the stranger wasn’t mentioning postbox, mailman, post office, mail van, stamps, envelopes nothing at all…My head crumples like paper. Loud echoes reverberate even in sleep. It hurts. Occasional silence spells doom. And who is this courier? I hate to accept a lesser rival rising above me, but alas telephone too, in its smaller versions has looted a lot from my niche.My head aches imagining so wild. Those rosy days. Those quiet moments. Musings mirror the lost tenderness. Memories envelope me. The first sky-blue inland I gobbled. Folded carefully in all the ---FOLD HERE--- marks and sealed, it took time for the petite him to adjust to my belly darkness. Only a small stream of light seeped in and it felt like a stolen twinkle from a firefly. The stamp was so shy. Opening her eyes and staring at my darkness was initially impossible. Later we were strangers in unison. Her giggle was so fresh like the anklets of a little kid. None knew where and what next, except that the inland was from a loving mother to one Mr. Adwaith in Bombay. But heard that Bombay changed to Mumbai, Madras to Chennai and Calcutta to Kolkata. Unsure because it’s long since I read such an address. At sharp 3:00 pm that day, Keluettan, our khaki clad postman opened me and stole my 3 hours of friends in a gunny bag. Keluettan retired long ago and a young Suresh took over. He still comes, clothed in a new blue uniform, steps to revive a dying department with a fresh look, I learned.Though I have no qualms, I ponder over some. Never did I get a chance to love, I did like some cute stamps, but they left at the next clearance. The longest I had lived and joyously enjoyed was on continuous Govt. holidays. An idealist Gandhi stamp lay idle chatting. The orange envelope though wasn’t too friendly, was kind of matured. Postcards were more friendly, as they were open hearted, didn’t have to hide anything. I got a lot of information reading those little postcards, costing just over 15 paise then. Competition postcards though were costly, thankfully improved my general knowledge. Lovely days of yore have elapsed. Rustic innocence lost, faster lifestyles rule. Hurry is the watchword seen through the windows in front.As years passed on letters at the same address went to Mrs. Thushara Adwaith, Greeting cards to Malu and Chinnu. And it all stopped abruptly. Once I eavesdropped on a dialogue between Keluettan and a colleague. The loving mother cum grandma shifted base to Bombay after her husband’s death. Who knows if she is alive or not? Once Adwaith too had posted a letter, I forgot to where.As time progressed, my belly grew tighter; at times the no of letters reached the level of my red cap too. It was too difficult to get pregnant often. I don’t complain, as it was fun and joy with so many companions; infinite good news had a stamp of my service in it. The feeling was bliss and even at this age goosebumps rise in me. What is lost is more treasured. The worth of something or someone that never comes back, but still haunts our sleep is understood too late. Isn’t?In front of me sits a banana seller, a vegetable vendor gives company, my vision is through my black lips, rather than my eyes. Is my name cut off the rolls by the India post too? I am saddened at the ignominy of being forgotten, but which door to knock and how? Questions knock me down in disappointment. Negativity creeps in. My concrete base seems as solid as it had been, nowadays a resting place for the hawker.My dress gave away a couple of years back, initial shyness to show my skin turned to shamelessness when the whole dress ripped away at the ruthlessness of nature. Now I stand stark naked, a little insane, a lot tired, inviting death to accept my final letter. Not a stain of red remains, except for the few unfriendly drops that had crept in while getting painted. Letters are forgotten and so is letter writing.A teenager is running towards the hawker. And she has a paper in hand. Surprise! She kissed it and dropped it in my pockets. The inland looks blank at me. No banter exchanged. No jokes shared. Quiet clarity of the hawker’s husky tone lingers. Hopefully Suresh will come. Pray this reaches on time and saves my face from further disgrace. Is it my revival? Questions still bother me. Time alone will reply.Is something scribbled behind? My eyes are deceiving me. Faintly I decipher the words. A few little hearts in red and…

What name is that? Bengalooru…Has my city changed too? More of those questions knock me off the cemented platforms. Am I falling? No remorse, no regrets. I have performed my duties to the best of my abilities.

The story afterwards: The inland reached on time, Malu didn’t have to send another inland. It was all E-mail and SMS from the Gen-next.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

“Photo frames done here”The steel plate hung like a prisoner restrained with manacles. The sheen on the metal plates had worn out. The white calligraphy peeled off from the black background in separate quarters. Dancing to the tune of the passing wind was the only distraction. Ramu squatted in the lonely quarter of the room. His memories flooded with moments of the once princely style of living. The teeming crowd, those bustling streets, thriving business establishments, wealthy households, colorful living, opulent smiles, happy faces and the cascade took him to a higher echelon of thoughts.“Worth emulating” – many a passer by had quipped at his workaholic nature.The golden frames often competed the golden morning rays for the skin tone. Ramu had lost number on the frames he had done. Gods, goddess, animals, birds, sceneries, vehicles, men women, children and how many infinite subjects in Gold, silver, wood, and pulp. And once experimenting with cardboard sandwiched and glued one upon another for a marvelous creation. He still vividly remembered the smile on the innocent face and the golden watch his parents gifted. The watch stopped ticking long ago, almost at the time when time began its ugly taunting grimace. The kid won many a laurel for the painting Ramu-da had framed in the special cardboard construction. They believed his handicraft as a luck charm till they too shifted home like the little humming birds that left the nest once the little wings were strong enough to fly. How weak and tired his heart grew then. Always missing the thought of missing the kid’s little laughter that broke his thick blanket of seemingly small miseries. He sometimes felt a pang during idle hours that his luck left with the kid and his embellished frame.How his hands used to carefully chisel the designs on the four corners and around the frame. The generous applause and the demand for more of the variants echoed in his present state of woe. How happy had his workers been? How lavishly was every festival celebrated? The affluence in those unselfish smiles always welcomed the best of work from their hearts. Times had changed, people too.The once particular incident of an enquiry and the subsequent order for a thousand look-alike photo frame surfaced in his thoughts. How striking it looked when the similar elegance with different captive gods smiled in a stack, ready to be imported. The deadline and the extra effort he put in ensuring his workers getting the due were highly appreciated. The letter of appreciation lay cobwebbed and uncared in yet another unknown corner of the warehouse today. The business lost out to the flourishing new business, to faster output, to better designs.“ Below par compared to your designs ” – he remembered the smirking remark from a patron; and how he mockingly depreciated the imported, colorful photo frames as swarming mosquitoes out of nowhere, till yesterday when the little kid doubted “Photo frames done here? Doesn’t it come readymade?”He remembered the transitory phase from where his small world started going topsy-turvy and the carelessness with which he looked down upon it. The usual sense of optimism kept him going, till he knew the business sinking. Alas it was too late for a revival. To stay afloat in the readymade market was more than difficult, he found himself getting strangulated with the workers who found the heat unbearable without overtime. Lamination changed the whole outlook of his little crafts. He lost the entire niche clientele. Even the loyal workers shifted base once his purse suffered. Not one from the umpteen gods he gave life to helped his business survive the intense of times. He had framed them for good and now he stood framed and frozen before the loneliness surrounding his survival. The morsels of food looked at him in pity, and he flung the saucer like a flying disc. Food spread on the disintegrated walls and cracked floors. Even the insects didn’t come to inspect. Everyone had deserted him. Disgust and shame had overhauled his personality. He found hatred everywhere, a sticking repulsion. His eyes had grown vacuously callous. Anguish dug it deep nails deeper to reach his bones. It split open. It was torture in a different league.He knew his little mistakes, to have trivialised the competitor in front of his huge business, to marginalize the instincts had been another and his inability to cope with the new environment of change had done him in. he closed his eyes for a tear to drip, but again the reluctant tear evaporated.A head stooped and looked inside his shanty. Ramu didn’t care to enquire the stranger for there was nothing to rob, not even his dignity.“Uncle, can you do me a favour?” Now what more of him remained to help? – Ramu thought in the distraught emptiness snuffing life out from inside and outside. He puffed the beedi’s last inch and snuffled inquiringly.The stranger enquired again “ Can U?”Without waiting for the tired head to nod, he continued. “Can you frame this photograph for me, in golden borders, with the grape yard creeper design, & a small base at the bottom for a light to fit”Ramu opened his palm and accepted the rolled photo.“The advance or the whole amount will be paid as you say”- The stranger said with an emphasized tone.The acceptance was immediate. The elastic band swiftly removed, Ramu’s eyes glued at the photograph. A waiting exclamation took seat. It was long since his eyes had grown so wide and suddenly moist.The little boy had grown so big and handsome.“ What happened to Kaku sahib?” – Ramu enquired out of all eagerness.“ He is no more, died a peaceful death a week back…and he always jovially told us to frame his photograph with those special photo frames at Ramu’s…” The boy’s voice trailed.Ramu’s eyes brimmed within and his heart felt heavy with a deadly emotion pinching the crevices through which blood flowed all these years.“What are you doing beta, do u still paint a lot?”The sweet childish innocence once again covered the strangers face.“ Am creative head with an advertising agency, enjoying my work of art and evaluating others too…” Pride reflected in his overtones.A sense of gratitude prevailed in the breathing. Ramu’s face creased a healthy half smile, the forehead wrinkled in countable crumples. Kaku sahib’s death is paying him money, making him a little wealthy, helping him a week of tasty food. For the first time in life he thanked almighty for an unwelcome death.“ Baba always appreciated your work and recounted that your luck charm brought us the good in life…”Ramu wet the dirty dhoti’s corner with some disobedient tears, while the stranger continued.“…and am here today not just for your work of art, but to appoint you as guide for the trainees in my Ad studio… are you ready to accompany”No questions, on where when and how. Ramu though unaware of Advertisement and its nuances or explanation nodded involuntarily. He felt an inexplicable feeling of good submerging his self. A whisper rang around. A blanket of warmth surrounded him. Ramu felt the viscousness of Kaku’s soul. He supposed that Kaku had come to return a slice of the once stolen luck, to help him survive.Life didn’t seem miserable like it seemed hours before. Blood started to flood the parched nerves. Energy began to fill the cells devoid of food. Starvation took a great exit. Life instilled Ramu enquired“Let’s go?”Bending his back out of the hanging roof, he wiped the dust off the steel plate, unshackled it, and sheltered it with a newspaper. His bones ached at the smoothness of the untried cushions of the car. The sheen returned with the minor glitches suffered during the test of time… The car moved on to another destination, wind desperately kissed his forehead, acknowledging and welcoming him to where life waited with golden frames for a new guest.

Monday, April 21, 2008

The morning blanketed itself in sinister silence. It had drizzled the previous night. Water pooled evenly in the uneven potholes of those seemingly unending roads. The breeze wasn’t welcome. She too remained absent. Neither a twig moved, nor a leaf rustled. The only sound was an alien breathing echoing. It was mine. The breath grew quicker and translated itself to a panting. Moonlight glistened on those palm leaves hanging loose and uninterested. My legs grew tired and found it miserably uneasy to walk. Two haunting lights pierced from an unpredictable distance. Sound of the rummaging engines disturbed the ghostly silence. My energetic hands waved. A screeching halt and I scooped my fright in. The scent of jasmine and lavender smelt around. The talcum powder shower with the garlanded jasmine on those black hairs stole my breath away. A damsel sat with her chin, ear and hair resting in an easy mood, unaware of my presence. A blue headscarf hid the rest of those assets. I stopped being attentive. The rickshaw traveled hastily to the nearest bus stop. She got out with a death like silence, unconcerned, unaware and indifferent. I forgot her. A few frail figures stood, some waiting for the bus, some for the early morning newspaper dispatch and some other idly sipping a cup of the brewing hot tea. The neighbor’s cigarette swirl addicted the morning air momentarily.Every approaching headlight around the corner expected a bus. Little drops of rain fell soothing the tensed air surrounding me. I breathed easy. A little drop fell on my specs and blurred my vision. A single bell and the bus stopped, with the back door welcoming my arrival. The rest continued waiting. A double bell. Just as the fingers gripped the bar and moved to the vacant seat, a single bell invited the screeching brakes to throw me off the feet. A lady clad in a saree with the creamiest of hues entered from the front door. I watched her in quiet curiosity. The same carelessness took her lazy pace to the neighboring seat. The distance of the aisle was the only separation. Drops of rain continued pelting itself on the glass like little sprays of sand. The wipers danced with the drops and slept back in the rusty slot. The LED’s danced and encircled the Gods behind the drivers cabin. Darkness prevailed outside. The melancholic Hindi memoir enhanced the silence in the mood with the love lorn singer humming at the peak of emotions. Her eyes closed in vacuous clarity. The same indifference outlined in the clear-cut profile. The bulbs lent light on her flourishes.A small ring adorned her cute little nose in the left nostril. Every breath through her nostril made the gold-plated move up and down. A drooping head fell sideways on her shoulder. She looked around and caught my eyes. A dark red bindi remained lifeless in the cheerless forehead. I sat in custody. The disturbance didn’t quiet disturb my menacing stare. My silent yet serious glances made her uneasy for the first time. She looked away, to the closed windows, lifted the shutter and looked out at the scenes thrown to light by the blinking streetlights. More rings adorned from the top of her ear till the bottom lobes, in various shaped circles. Two in silver, one in steel and yet another in gold. They mingled and danced at every swerve of the bus, sometimes kissing her bare neck in admiration. The spherical pearly locket dangled from the lowermost ring like the cutest fruit of the young mango tree.Yet another of her stolen look and I was still in silent admiration of those spotless cheeks. She bit her nails out of a docile anxiety, the nails shied away at the drool from the pearly white teeth. I acknowledged her cute fingers speckled with four different rings. The little finger decorated with a simple silver plated circle, ring finger gleamed at the golden embellishment, the middle finger proud of a possessive emerald stone atop and the index finger charmed with a copper flamboyance, while the thumb basked in its nakedness. An untold number of leaf green bangles slipped deep down near her elbow, embroidered in golden hue on either side like guards on duty. She rested her hands on the lap and the bangles lay in idle innocence. Her eyes tried their best to bear my stare, moving to and fro to all sides of the screen. The golden thread of gold streaming down her neck en-route her breasts stopping at her navel found the sudden unrest a disturbance. Perturbed, the bosoms heaved faster and her hands stroked the smaller black beaded chain harder. The amulet stared shamelessly at the cleavage about of give birth to cute little globes. With the smaller necklace bathed in sweat, those diamonds sniffed the droplets of fear. A smaller droplet flowed down the groove to a blissful stay in the warm indoors. I smiled. The fingers on her leg twitched in displeasing expectation. With more than two rings bejeweled in each, the fingers found it difficult to squirm. She shifted her legs and the silver anklets snuggled with a giggling tone.A sudden whiff of air and the veiled headscarf fell backwards; the vermilion streak drew closer in clarity amidst the pendant and its decorated tail splitting the hair in two. My head turned away, staring at the pictures of the infinite landscapes outside. Gazing at the pleasant sun rising far away in yet another horizon, my journey continued. She left somewhere in the middle, but the addicting fragrance of her jasmine garland, the arresting charm of her lazy gait and the beguiling spell of her ornaments still remain captive in my senses, long after the incomplete journey…

Thursday, April 03, 2008

THANK YOU PREETECHI... IT WAS NICE DOING THE TAG...1.LAST MOVIE YOU SAW IN A THEATRE

It was a sponsored programme :-)..JODHAA AKBAR… I laughed throughout the first half, seeing all the unready moustaches and bearded minus moustache, of course getting rude glances from those serious viewers.. 2. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

I am not completing any these days… Two in the Q… “ LAJJA” –Taslima Nasrin, “TAGORE – A Biography” – Krishna Kriplani 3. FAVORITE BOARD GAME?

The female fragrance of the shampooed/perfumed hair, in a sweat-smelling & crowded BEST bus in Mumbai… 6. FAVORITE SOUND?

The sound of the gentle breeze, tickling and rustling those leaves of the huge mango tree at home…, An afternoon song of the Lazy Cuckoo perched on the papaya…, Varying sound of the drizzle to the downpour on the leaves and the tiled roof of my ancestral home.. 7. WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD? Loneliness…and Indifference from those unexpected quarters.. 8. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE? Again its time to go to offizzzzzzzz… :) So boring to sit retired even while working!!! 9. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE? Idli Annan at the Victoria Terminus Subway at Mumbai… His unique make and mix of the 3:5 ( number: price) Idli-Vada-sambhar-chutney is a mouth-watering favourite… 10. FUTURE CHILD'S NAME? Manchaadi (Pet name..:P) 11. FINISH THIS STATEMENT. "IF I HAD A LOT OF MONEY I’D...? Travel and travel taking infinite photos in Matt finish….:-) .. To start an evening school in my native village where kids are taught to speak good English...12. DO YOU DRIVE FAST? Yes!!! Too fast on my YAMA-HA 13. DO YOU SLEEP WITH A STUFFED ANIMAL? Unfortunately till date, I slept alone…In the present condition animals * are fine too… * is for a Feminine breed …;P

14. STORMS-COOL OR SCARY? When my Boss storms to my cubicle asking for a forgotten & non existant report…itz ??? Kewl for him and SCARY for me..;-) 15. WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? Forgot the name…Think Dad got it for me at Rs. 5/- from Guruvayur… 16.FAVORITE DRINK?

It’s Lemon Juice with salt-sugar in equal proportion, Then Frooti…and off late the Appy…A taste that still lingers is the LEMON MINT COOLER from FRUIT YARD at kaloor, Cochin … 17. FINISH THIS STATEMENT, "IF I HAD THE TIME I WOULD... Start a Time bank, Save the excess time, Accumulate and….. Barter it ‘Hour’ wise for love, to those who require only a little more of minutes to make the world a better place to live…Gift it ‘Minute’ wise to those who have only seconds more to live, Tantalisingly suspend it ‘Second’ wise from my roof, to sensitise those who never knew the value of time … & the balance will keep on growing in my Time-bank with interest… 18. DO YOU EAT THE STEMS ON BROCCOLI?U mean, Brassica oleracea italica??? :) I had a look at the dictionary…:p 19. IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CHOICE? White…So that I look matured at least in some deceptive eyes…;P, else NO..i dnt like it….20. NAME ALL THE DIFFERENT CITIES/TOWNS YOU HAVE LIVED IN.

Thiruvananthapuram, Vadakara ( Calicut) , Thalassery( Kannur) , Surat, Mumbai, Bangalore, Chennai, Calcutta… 21. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? :-) SOCCER, but esp. the Santhosh Trophy Football.. :-) I love the Kerala Vs________ games…22. ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU. Holding High the Infinite Figments Of Imagination… 23. WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? :-) Floored !!!! 24. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE BORN AS YOURSELF AGAIN?

100%, It’s ‘I love me’…still with some minor polishing work done on the dents suffered en-route this birth!!!

25. MORNING PERSON, OR NIGHT OWL? The Knight Rider….I sleep and ride on my dreams.… 26. OVER EASY, OR SUNNY SIDE UP? Sunny’s side up…hahaha… 27. FAVORITE PLACE TO RELAX? Open grass lawn as my bed, A tree to shade, Natural breeze as the fan, A river by the side whose waters are soothing music to my ears… :) [ & I should be alone] 28. FAVORITE PIE? Anant pai.. The Indian Amar chitra katha king… :) 29. FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? A Mint flavoured light green colored ice cream from Baskin-Robbins, if not any of the butterscotch flavours topped with honey… 30. OF ALL THE PEOPLE YOU TAGGED THIS TO, WHO'S MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND FIRST? :)